Every day of summer, there was a sandlot game until it got too dark to see the ball. No uniforms or caps. Baseballs with covers worn away, broken bats repaired with small nails. Keds. And, yes, someone got picked last. (Not Mr. Hustle ↑↑ ~ of course.)
Once a week, there was a real game. A few parents on lawn chairs watched the Little League Red Sox for an inning or three at the Oak Avenue field.